


Binary

by Radical_Anus



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Action, Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mystery, Separate Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom, Violence, light humor, pitchpearl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27493840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radical_Anus/pseuds/Radical_Anus
Summary: Fenton is an agent for the National Security Agency. He's one of the best, and he's at his best when he works alone. However, the Agency had other ideas and gave him a partner. An android codenamed Phantom.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Danny Phantom
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	Binary

Fenton was never keen on surprises—specifically when not on a mission.

He just had a three-month stint in the eastern ghettos, and he was tired. The safe house was compromised and his cover almost blown to fuck-all. He spent a concerning amount of time fighting his way out of that situation, being shot at and nearly blown up in the process.

All he wanted was to file his report and go the hell home for the break he damn well deserved.

But then he was met with green eyes, slicked back white hair and a blank face bearing a mission specs dossier. It took all of his tired brain cells not to storm out of his office and straight to Walker’s. 

He glared at the blank face while taking the tablet. The white haired man simply put his hands behind his back and stood at attention once the device was out of his possession.

Fenton drew his lips into a thin line as he swiped up on the screen and pressed his thumb where indicated. ‘Access Granted’ flashed twice in green before the bright white of the digital document appeared.

Dark brows furrowed as he read through the concise notice twice more. He glanced at the man—no, android—then wordlessly turned heel out of his office and into the woodworks.

The hall was a constant flow of agents and secretaries alike, each with something in hand—be it phones, tablets, folders, or the gift of lunch for the desk-ridden. Fenton ducked, dodged and weaved through them all, long strides never faltering. He grunted at whoever decided to acknowledge him, and ignored everyone else. Blue eyes were trained on the elevator at the end of the path, and he barely managed to get the tail of his coat through the closing doors. 

Five floors up in Administration was far less chaotic than the Field Division—The Field, they called it—; the clicking of his dress shoes had a chance to echo off the walls, and his shadow wasn’t lost between padded shoulders. 

The brown metal doors blurred in his haste toward the end of the corridor where ‘Operations’ was spread across the wall in large steel letters. Fenton banked right, breezing by Ms. Tetslaff, Walker’s secretary.

“Excuse me but do you—,” she trilled.

“It’s important,” Fenton snapped. “Let me in.”

The heavy set woman frowned and squared her shoulders. “You don’t have an appointment with—!”

Fenton kissed his teeth, reached over and snatched Tetslaff’s badge right off her lapel. In a sweeping motion, he ran it across the scanner and tossed it back onto the desk while the door opened, not sparing her another glance.

Walker stood at the window overlooking the city, broad daylight bouncing off his white suit with obnoxious abandon. Fenton squinted against the fluorescence; sometimes he thought Walker believed he was God himself, parading around in a color that rejected him almost a decade ago.

“I expect a formal apology on my secretary’s desk by the time you turn in your report, Agent,” the head of Operations intoned, not bothering to turn around. 

Fenton all but flung the tablet he carried across the top of Walker’s desk. “Mind explaining what the fuck this is?”

Walker’s silence was resolute. Fenton scoffed.

“I really don’t have time for this shit, Walker,” the agent seethed. “The hell did you rope me into this time? I’m off for the next three weeks—.”

“You’re off when I allow it,” Walker interrupted coolly. He turned around and pulled back his chair, easing himself onto the smooth leather. His gaze glossed over the faced-down device as he laced his fingers together. 

Walker was a bald, pale man, body broader than his brand of pallor would dictate. His green eyes were striking, alarming almost—and made lesser men cower under their intensity.

Fenton narrowed his own blue eyes at his superior. 

After several long moments where neither man refused to give in, Fenton lost the battle before it began. He knew full well that he wasn’t getting anything until he followed protocol—exceptional agent or not, he was never above The Rules. 

He reigned in his temper to the best of his frayed ability and plopped into the standard issued plastic chair sat before the other man’s large metal desk.

“Commander Walker,” he croaked blandly, earlier exhaustion settling over him like a weight. 

“Welcome back, Agent,” Walker responded smoothly. “I trust your newest assignment found you well.”

“What am I supposed to do with an android, Walker?”

Walker straightened and held the discarded tablet out to the slumped agent. 

Fenton groaned, making a face. “I’m a solo worker, you know that.”

“Which is why you’re the best candidate to have it work with,” Walker waved the tablet a little.

“Couldn’t this wait until after down time?” Fenton reached for the offending object and let it hang off to his side in a limp grasp. 

“Agents are to acquaint themselves with one another when assigned as partners before missions. You know this.”

“Acquaint myself with polyester and carbon with a radiator for a stomach? Cut the crap, Old Man.”

“Watch your mouth or I’ll have you cited.”

“Promises, promises…”

“The details are all there, I don’t need to regurgitate them to you, Agent,” Walker dutifully ignored the jibe, his expression becoming bored. “Dismissed.”

“But Dad, please—,” 

“Get. Out.”

Fenton let a tired grin steal across his haggard features before hefting himself onto his feet. “Can I skip dinner tonight and come over next week?”

“Absolutely not,” Walker raised an eyebrow. “Jasmine’s been looking forward to seeing you for weeks so you’d better look alive.”

Fenton grimaced at the mention of his sister. They really had fallen out of touch. ‘Work makes me travel,’ he said— that he’d do better with calling and talking like they used to. Finding a new cover story for his ‘job’ as a traveling journalist and posting something online every once in a while was taxing on the fly like this. But he was more than capable. That’s why he was hired in the first place—and being bullied into the family dinner.

He never found out what Walker’s excuse was.

Fenton hurled himself through the din of The Field, slipping into his small office with a sigh, forehead against the door as he closed it. Turning, his mood instantly soured.

He walked by the suited presence in his office, abandoning the dossier on his desk. “Why are you still standing there?”

The android was exactly where he left him nearly an hour before, at attention and arms behind his back, looking dead ahead at nothing.

“Awaiting orders,” was the succinct reply. The android’s voice was deep, but mechanical only in tone and nothing else. If he weren’t so off-kilter, he’d be impressed.

Fenton closed his eyes and drew breath through his nose. Never mind that, however. What was he even supposed to do with the guy? Take him home? 

Blue eyes flickered over to the tablet, logic winning out. He trudged over to his desk and dropped into his seat, accessing the document again. He took his time and combed through the parameters, occasionally glancing up at the subject matter, quizzical.

He then eyed the phone on his desk, Walker’s extension already dancing on his fingertips, question burning on his tongue. His hand hovered over the receiver.

There was no conceivable way to spin some random story about this guy at dinner. What could he say? He met him over yonder during his trip? That he’s the new camera man?

Would it back him up? Can androids even lie?

Their earlier conversation flashed across his mind with disgusting clarity and he ran the hand down his face instead.

He should have feigned diarrhea. 

He glared at the dossier before shoving it away with a groan. It didn’t tell him anything other than this android was a state-of-the art agent model specializing in reconnaissance and infiltration. Went by the code name Phantom. Nothing beyond that other than he was supposed to be fitted with an agent to test it in real-world situations, localization—the usual game specs.

Fenton leaned back in his chair, hands over his face. “Fuck me.”

“Fraternizing with coworkers is against bylaw thirt—.”

Fenton paled, staring wide-eyed at Phantom who then faced him without expression as the android quoted the employee handbook verbatim.

“Stop.” Fenton held up a hand. “Please stop.”

Phantom did, still as a life-sized statue, green eyes staring right through Fenton. Nothing on this android seemed to move anymore. He didn’t breathe—of course he didn’t—and he didn’t blink. He just…was.

God.

“Walker’s lost his fucking mind,” Fenton muttered. He turned on his computer, preparing to write his report. He may have gotten two paragraphs in when the figure just within his peripheral began to nag at him.

“Take a seat,” he motioned to the chair by the door. “You standing over me is putting me on edge.”

Like pressing play on a video, Phantom was the picture of life, turning to sit in the chair, ramrod straight, and going still again.

Like a fucking voice-activated Sim, he thought, mildly disturbed.

He ignored Phantom for the rest of his report. Eventually he was able to hit ‘Send’ with a breath of relief and rise to his feet. He stretched his arms over his head and checked his watch. What with no fancy window-seat, the clock was his best friend. 

It was about four in the afternoon and dinner usually started at seven. If he hurried he could probably catch a power nap to avoid passing out in the potato salad…

Fenton stopped short at the sight of Phantom and cursed inwardly.

“Alright, Pinocchio,” he breathed with mock-cheer. “Time to hit the road.”

Phantom didn’t budge and Fenton frowned. He stepped back from the door and peered at the android.

“Phantom?” 

Like flipping a switch, Phantom blinked and looked up at Fenton, expectant. Immediately, thoughts of Walker’s near-obsession with formalities flashed across his mind.

Fucking hell—.

“It’s quitting time,” he continued smoothly. “Let’s go.”

Phantom rose and left first at Fenton’s polite flourish and dry, “After you.”

The push and pull of the mid-afternoon throng was stronger than usual, he noted. Fenton cast a glance over his shoulder to see Phantom a few bodies behind him. He then paused for the android to make it close enough to grab his wrist and tug him along. It wouldn’t do to lose the new guy to the bowels of the workforce. 

Fenton kept his hold on his new charge in the crowded elevator until they were safely deposited into the underground parking garage. Once he was sure Phantom was still following him, he fumbled for the alarm in his pocket and pushed the button. Near the end of the garage, a shiny black coupe rolled forward from the line.

“There you are, Girl,” Fenton grinned. His pace quickened a bit as the car rolled itself out just enough for him to open the door and get in. He watched, a bit impressed to see Phantom easily slide in and buckle up, hands resting on his thighs like a good noodle.

And then go completely still.

Criminy.

Fenton rolled his eyes and pushed the ‘Start’ button.

“Onward, Buttercup,” he grunted under his breath, putting the car in Drive and patting the steering wheel. “There’s fuckery to endure.”

Phantom was quiet since his thwarted lecture at the office. But Fenton didn’t miss the way Phantom’s attention turned this way and that, eyes glued to anything they drove past. He mostly looked at everything through the windshield—only things of particular interest dragged his attention over to the passenger side. 

Must be his first time so far from the building, Fenton surmised. 

The city of Angleston hadn’t changed much in the three months he’d been away. Most shops were still where he left them, some new ones springing up in odd places. Buildings still scraped the sky and the corporate hub that was the eastern half of the city was forever congested as humanly possible. 

At a stop light, he had a thought and leaned over, absently muttering, “Excuse me,” as he opened and rummaged through his glove compartment. It was buried under the papers, but he found his MP3 player. Closing the compartment, he turned on the device and grinned when he found that it still had half a charge.

The light turned green and some asshole behind him couldn’t wait to lay on their horn. Fenton rolled his eyes and pulled off, turning onto the overpass. 

Keeping half an eye on the road, he fiddled with the settings on the MP3 and connected it to the radio through the aux cord he kept in the arm rest. Idly, he wondered what kind of music would androids like.

He cast a furtive glance at his silent companion and immediately dismissed the thought. The guy was a statue again after having nothing to really look at, unless he wanted to count cars on a one-way highway.

Fenton snorted and let the music play. 

Sometime around five, they pulled into the parking lot of his apartment complex. 

“Here we are,” he gestured uselessly, already clambering out. A quick backwards glance assured him Phantom was dutifully following.

They took the elevator to the sixth floor and trekked as far as the midway point of the carpeted hall to his apartment. Fenton punched in the alphanumeric code and the door unlocked with a chime.

He let Phantom in first.

“Home sweet home,” he sighed, tossing his keys into the bowl near the door. He gave Phantom a tired pat and yawned. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Without another word or waiting for a response, Fenton made a beeline for his room—the second door on the left— and flung himself into his special welcome-home routine. 

He exited the shower in just a pair of sweatpants and cast a forlorn glance to his bed. Time was not on his side though, and Fenton went back out to see what his new partner got himself into.

And met him standing right where he left him. Didn’t he tell him to get comfortable? 

Shaking his head, Fenton took a moment to really look at the android. There were robots milling around, sure. But you knew they were robots—you saw their nuts and bolts and shiny finishes. Saw the spaces between their face-plates. They didn’t move as fluidly and the most humanoid ones were still Barbies and Kens that stood apart from humans. 

But Phantom was easily a marvel. Fenton didn’t even know the other wasn’t human until he read the dossier. The android definitely looked real enough. His hair, although shockingly white, still looked natural. Only respect for personal space kept him from reaching out and touching.

Fenton shook himself out of his melting thoughts. He had to be losing his mind from exhaustion—personal space for an android. 

“Let me guess,” he forced past his monkey thoughts, “Awaiting orders?”

Green eyes snapped to him. “Yes.”

“I’m going to need you to start exercising some form of autonomy man,” Fenton sighed. “Meeting you in the same place I left you is…”

“Studies show that not meeting something where you left it causes undue stress in humans,” Phantom supplied. 

Fenton blinked at him and folded his arms. “Are you a poisonous cryptid that will kill me if I lose track of you?”

“You’re not my current target,” was the simple response. Because that wasn’t fucking ominous at all. 

Fenton ignored it. “So you’re a poisonous cryptid?”

Phantom’s eyes shifted briefly, as if thinking. “No, I am not a cryptid, but I am made of material that is poisonous to humans if ingested in large amounts.”

Fenton entertained the idea of pleading diarrhea again.

He sighed and motioned toward the living room where only a sectional sat. “Have a seat.” 

Phantom followed the gesture and sat at the edge of the black sofa, ramrod straight, expressionless and still.

Fenton was supposed to be carrying this to dinner? Where would the food go—was he even capable of eating? 

He scrubbed at his face, trying to remember what he saw in the document. He should have put effort into committing something useful to memory. There was no referencing it outside of the building—it was against The Rules.

Fucking hell.

Well, his mind supplied. He’s known to stay where you left him. Maybe you can leave him here?

No, his better judgment argued, because Walker would gut him. Inviting the android to dinner was as ‘acquainting’ as one could get. Finding a workaround and lying about it would likely get him cited or sentenced to paperwork. Besides, if he had to be uncomfortable, Walker was suffering with him.

Fenton eyed his charge with renewed vigor. Phantom still wore a suit with that strange armband on his left bicep. No way he could go to Jazz’s looking fresh off the assembly line.

“Changed my mind,” Fenton grunted. “Come here.”

Phantom dutifully rose to his feet and approached the agent, following him into the bedroom. 

Fenton wasn’t a slob by any means, despite his chaotic domain back in Amity Park. Things just got left out of place sometimes. Most of those times, he couldn’t be bothered to fix it. 

He pointed to a spot in the middle of the open space beside the rumpled bed, between the chest of drawers and small desk, and Phantom obediently stood there.

It was character customization time.

They seemed to be about the same height and build. Maybe there was something casual that worked for Phantom. 

After a few minutes of hangers scraping across the metal pole and muttering to himself, Fenton yanked out a dark blue polo, and reached for dark jeans.

“What shoe size do you wear,” he found himself muttering, already looking off to the right where the shoe rack hung.

“Eleven,” came the smooth reply. If Fenton wasn’t highly trained, he would have jumped. Besides, he was stupid for forgetting that the person he raided his closet for was right there.

Fenton plucked down a pair of canvas shoes. “Change into these.” 

He turned and handed the clothes to Phantom, barely waiting for the android to take them as he rooted around for a pair of socks in the last drawer of the chest.

He didn’t expect to turn around to find Phantom bent double about to yank off his underwear—androids wore those?

“Whoa, whoa,” he halted the other’s motion. “You’re doing that right here?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Fenton pinched the bridge of his nose and pointed to the door to his left. “Do that in there. I don’t need to see your bits and pieces.”

Without protest, the android gathered the given clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. Fenton shook his head and cursed Walker again. 

It was time to dress himself.

He was putting on his watch when Phantom emerged fully dressed. Fenton gave the android a once-over, frowning at the slicked back hair. 

“Come here,” he turned, hands ready to add to Walker’s stress. The bald fart was probably the one to suggest having the android look like a mafioso in the first place. Phantom, docile as ever and completely unaware, came well within Fenton’s personal bubble. 

And immediately set to tousling the platinum tresses, soon finding himself thoughtfully carding through it. It felt so real, and so soft. And it was layered, holy hell. 

“Whoever made you gave you all the good genes,” he snorted, stepping back to assess. He turned Phantom toward the full-body mirror behind his room door. 

The clothes fit the android like a glove, outlining a figure Fenton worked months to cultivate for himself. Their reflections stood side by side, one in dark blues and one in turquoise and tan. Compared to Fenton’s raccoon face and naturally unkempt hair Phantom looked the picture of GQ Casual.

“All the good genes,” he murmured with a roll of his eyes. He checked his watch and pat the android on his shoulder. “Come on, buddy.”

With one last check around the apartment, the duo left.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my personal little circle of DP hell. Let me know what you think!


End file.
